Page 78 of Siren Problems
Calder Thorne is singing.
The sound of it tears through me, achingly beautiful and soaliveI forget the cold, the ritual, everything.
He walks toward me, each step a vow. His voice threads through the chant I started, weaving new magic into the old bones of the spell. And I can feel it—canfeelit—rising all around us like a second tide.
Magic pulses in the sand. The relics flare.
He reaches me, still singing, and grabs my hand. His skin is warm, burning hot even through the cold surf.
“I couldn’t let you do this alone,” he murmurs, breaking the song only to speak.
“Good,” I say, my voice cracking. “’Cause I wasn’t gonna let you get away with leaving me behind.”
A surge of water crashes around us, but we stand firm. Calder closes his eyes and sings again, louder now. The chant bends to his voice, twisting upward into something wild and holy andfree.
The sky splits.
The supermoon gleams like a promise overhead.
Light. Not white, not gold, but the kind of light youfeel, like warm breath or laughter through tears. It explodes out of the relics, pours from the sea, wraps around Calder like a ribbon and snaps.
And I hear it.
A break. Ashatter.
The curse is gone.
He stumbles, breath heaving, eyes wide. “Luna?—”
I kiss him before he can say anything else. Hard, fast, terrified it’s all a dream.
He kisses me back like it’s not.
The ground trembles under our feet, the sea suddenly enraged—as if the very magic we’ve stirred has teeth and a temper. Water explodes around us, a surge of energy lashing out from the altar where the relics gleam like furious stars.
“Shit,” I gasp, grabbing Calder’s hand tighter. “This isn’t the calm-after-the-storm part, is it?”
“No,” he growls, voice barely audible over the screaming wind, “this is the part where it fights back.”
A column of seawater rises beside us, crashing in on itself with a roar. Lightning forks through the sky like the ocean gods are pissed we woke them from a two-century nap. The chant stutters on my tongue, but Calder’s voice doesn’t falter. His songrises again—raw, commanding, steeped in something ancient and heartbreakingly human. Like he’s daring the storm to take him and finish what the curse started.
And for a second, I think it might.
But then I feel it—something inside me surging, a deeper note thrumming against my ribs like the pulse of the tide itself. I grab hold of it. I let it carry me.
I throw my head back and sing—not words, not even notes, just feeling. My voice weaves around Calder’s, tangling with it, lifting it. It’s not perfect. It’sreal.
The sea responds.
A vortex of water launches into the air between us, spinning mad with light and sound. Mira’s relics levitate from the altar, caught in the storm, orbiting us like possessed moons. I don't even flinch when they hover just inches from my head. Itrustthis. I trusthim.
The chant and the song converge. The vibrations around us shift—less violent, more intent, like the magic’s trying to decide if we’re worthy.
“Don’t stop!” I shout, voice hoarse, reaching for Calder’s other hand. “Don’tyoudare stop!”
He grits his teeth, his grip crushing mine, and sings louder. The note rips out of him like it’s tearing something free from his bones. I echo him, our voices now one tide pulling the whole damn world into its undertow.
CRACK.
